


Lord of the Forest

by Alathe



Series: Lord of the Forest [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angsty Geralt, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alathe/pseuds/Alathe
Summary: Jaskier is not human, he is Lord of the Forest, and post season 1 episode 6, he returns to his natural form to wreak vengeance on Geralt.I don't know how long this series will be, but Geraskier is probably the end goal.  I think.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Lord of the Forest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662172
Comments: 42
Kudos: 351





	1. Jaskier:  The Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by ryannthegirl -Thank you, ryann. <3

He had had many names over the years. Pan, Ullr, Cernunnos, Leshy, Tapio, Actaeon, Bacchus. No one had gotten it quite right, of course. How could they, when they were only human? Their understanding of such power was as limited as their days upon the planet, and he was so fascinated by them. Their short lives, full of worship and condemnation, mirth and sorrow, adventure and stillness, or any other blend of human emotions. How could he not fall in love with them, generally, singularly, and constantly?

  
By the time he met Geralt, he had gotten very good at playing the role of a human. That had taken several centuries to grasp, and even more to perfect; but as far as he could tell, everyone accepted him as naught but a humble (and completely human) bard.

  
So why would someone so powerful travel with a witcher, as though he needed protecting from the things which frighten your average villager? Entertainment, mostly, and the possibility of not losing a mortal companion after only a few decades. It also didn't hurt that this fellow was beautiful, eyes like the sun, a strong face capped with snow-white hair, and broad shoulders. The man was a mountain, and Jaskier wanted to climb him; to learn his secrets and know everything about him. Mages also had longer lives, but they would be too likely to divine his true nature. It's so difficult to hide magic from those who practice it regularly.

  
However, witchers were known to have long lives, some magic (but hopefully not enough), and to live and thrive on adventure; as long as they didn't end up getting killed by some random monster. Besides, he wanted to tell tales of the fantastic, and often frightening, beasts that lived in the mountains, lakes, and even his own forests. The white-haired man he followed found these creatures, and thus supplied him with fuel for his tales, without too much concern about giving away his own secrets. 

  
The first time the man touched him had literally been a blow to the gut. Nowhere near hard enough to hurt _him_ , of course. He'd actually taken harder blows from normal humans, so it was obvious the man with sunshine eyes didn't intend to damage him. This only spurred his interest, why was the witcher trying to gently shoo him away? Oh, right, monster hunt; and the hunter did not know that his companion was not human. 

  
They had many adventures together, Jaskier composing ballads and hymns as Geralt inspired him. He admired the compassion of his theoretically emotionless friend, giving mercy to many inhuman creatures. Though he himself had nearly been found out when they had been captured by the elves. With so few of them in the human cities, he had forgotten that he must be more careful, lest they smell his magic (or however they managed to infer it) and out him as not human. 

  
That was until the day the White Wolf proved himself to be a horse's ass. Years of travelling together, saving each other's hides (even if the witcher didn't know it was Jaskier who saved him), and then without warning, Geralt blamed everything on him. Alright, so the djinn _was_ kind of his fault, but still. He tried to defend himself with his words, but the man was on a roll. 

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" 

  
The phrase burned inside him, this was not his prayer to deny. Words fell from his mouth, and he didn't know what they were or what they meant. He gathered his belongings, and walked out of sight. Once he was far enough away to not be seen, the air began to blur around him, he tipped his head back, straightening his spine and raising his arms just a bit; then there was a dull burst of light, from which fluttered a red bird. He flew and flew, back home, back to _his_ forest. 

  
The bird changed shape upon landing on the loam and fallen needles, and the bard began to howl. Pain, frustration, rejection, and loss all came from his human lips in a sound of pure grief and rage. He cried, something he hadn't known he could do before meeting the white-haired miscreant. Salty human tears fell from eyes the color of summer skies. He had no idea how long he cried and screamed. After wailing a long enough while, all one can do is sit numbly, and Jaskier did for an unknown amount of time. 

  
A breeze fluttered in his dark hair, and he looked around. This was no way for a Lord of the Forest to behave. But the pain and anger had settled deep within him, in the way that only such a powerful creature may hold it. He raised his chin, feeling the breeze on his face. Hair the color of rich, fertile earth began to flow behind him, growing longer as he floated to his feet and took on his natural shape. The already long, lean body grew even taller, more willowy and took on darker hues. His clothes disappeared, the hair on his chest became thicker as it trailed down his body, until he was all fur below the points of his hips, with exquisitely shaped cloven hooves to stand on. Fine patterns, like the lines of tree rings could be seen upon his skin if one looked closely. 

  
But this was an angry god, and one would be foolish to look upon him now, lest he smite them down. He felt the strength of his anger flow through his body. He would watch for the white witcher, and return the pain he had been given. He rested his hand on the trunk of the tree at whose base he had initially collapsed as he felt his power flow again. Slowly, he became aware that the air did not smell right, and looking around, he saw dead creatures on the ground nearby. He looked at the tall pine under his hand, and saw that it had become twisted and warped, the signs of his wrath were all around him. He needed to focus, punish the offender, not his beloved woods. He could apologize to the tree, but that would not change its fate now. Now he must find Geralt of Rivia.


	2. Geralt:  He's Really Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told from Geralt's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ryannthegirl -Thank you, ryann. <3

Geralt sat in the tavern drinking an ale, and trying to ignore the singing bard. So far, so good. Wait, the musical man was approaching him, demanding his opinion. Why were these fools drawn to him? Must be the hair. He thought again about wearing his hood, but it was just too damn warm to wear the cloak it was attached to.

"C'mon, you don't want to keep a man with ... bread in his pants ... waiting." Was that a poorly executed pick-up line? Was it possible this buffoon was actually hitting on him? No, probably just a means to try to elicit conversation from people.

"They don't exist." Why was he continuing this conversation? He had a job to do. He gave an automatic answer before considering the slim bard again. Ah, fuck. He knew that face, he'd just been recognized. And he doubted this man wanted to hire him for a contract. He picked up his coin purse and "very,  _ very _ scary looking swords" and headed for the door. The bard caught up with him just outside of town.

A  _ human _ following a witcher along on a hunt. This damned fool of a bard was going to cause a serious issue.  He had tried telling the bard, whose name he had no interest in learning, to leave. Tried telling him he didn’t want company, using words both soft and strong. What would it take to get this idiot back to town, or at least out of harm’s way? A little pain now ....

"Come here." 

_ He's a soft human, don't injure him. _ The bard stepped forward, and as Geralt aimed his fist to the man's middle, he caught an odd scent. But he was mid-swing and it was less important than keeping an innocent human from getting them both killed. 

_ Pull back on the blow _ , he reminded himself. The bard's lungful of air whooshed by the side of Geralt's face, earthy and fragrant in his sensitive nose; with familiar undercurrents of scents he knew, but could not place. The bard didn't leave, and even more amazingly, didn't get either of them killed. 

In fact, when they were captured by the elves, Geralt was surprised to discover the slight man knew the Elder tongue. Jaskier wouldn't leave him alone, and it was strange to have someone other than Roach to talk to on the road. Eventually he grew to enjoy the prattling, even if his grumpy self couldn't admit it. Sometimes it  _ was _ an issue, but he was grudgingly glad of the human company.

......................................

On the mountain, Geralt was angry. The world he'd built around himself was slipping through his fingers. He didn't believe in fate. Destiny was just a crock of lies people told themselves. So as his world came crashing down, he sought answers, as all people do. Since he couldn't blame fate, why  _ was _ his world falling to shit?

"Oof, what a day. I imagine you're probably ..." 

Geralt spun on the bard, standing there with his fancy red doublet open, looking just as he always did, not screaming or crying as the world collapsed. How could one human stay so composed?

"Dammit, Jaskier, why is it when I find myself in a pile of shit these days it's  _ you _ shoveling it?" At least the minstrel had the sense to taken aback by this.

"That's not fair ..." 

But Geralt wasn't done, he continued the accusations, spewing his anger into the bard's face, then whirled back around, just like the thoughts whirling in his head. Jaskier was speaking, and at first the furious witcher could not process the sounds through his anger. 

At the end, the pain was clear in Jaskier's voice as he said "See you around, Geralt." For one brief moment, the big man knew he'd regret lashing out that way, but the fury consuming him was just too great, and he continued to stare out over the cliffs trying to get his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes and struggled to meditate, finding it nearly impossible at first. Finally everyone had left; and now that he was alone on the mountain he was able to concentrate. 

He must have meditated clear through the night, for when he opened his eyes the sun rose with glorious colors. Calm now, he enjoyed the painted sky, the birdsong, and the quiet of the morning. For just a moment, his mind drifted to Jaskier's likely response to his enjoyment of this moment, but that shattered the mood. He had chased the bard away with his rage. 

He tried to convince himself he was better off unaccompanied as he packed his camp alone and headed down the mountain. He'd go about his way, taking contracts and getting paid. He didn't need anyone. He steadfastly ignored the cracking he had heard in Jaskier's voice the night before.

It took almost a week to get another contract. He reminded himself daily that he was better off alone. But there was no chattering bard to keep his mind from turning inward as he rode through the woods to find the warg. Only the deepest parts of his mind were allowed to miss the companionship he'd had.

He realized it was getting late, and didn’t want to deal with the creature in the dark if he could help it. So he told Roach to stay, and set up camp, wanting a goodnight’s rest before the battle. Little did he know, he was being keenly observed by the blue eyed snake lying in the trees behind his camp.

Even though he made sure he put his bedroll on a nice flat patch of earth, he stretched out to find a rock under his shoulder. He removed it, and lay back down, only to find another under his tailbone. Each time he dozed off, something woke him. Sounds were louder than normal, a tree branch crashing to the ground, a strange smell; those kinds of things. He woke discouraged and irritable. Nothing for it, this was the job. You do the job, and then you get paid. It was time to give this creature what for.

His lack of rest caused him to be a bit more careless than usual, and he paid for it. The creature attacked, and he didn't have enough warning, finding himself slammed into the base of a tree. Despite the ringing in his head, he managed to draw his sword by the time he stood back up, and he was able to deflect a second blow as the creature leapt over him. His spin was just a little too slow and he found himself on the ground again, his head having struck a rock. 

Relying on instinct, he rolled onto his back and thrust his sword up just as the damn warg landed on him. He felt the creature sink onto his blade with a howl, and a small smirk allowed his teeth to glint in the light. The beast was far from dead as it pushed off and freed itself, but at least now Geralt wasn't the only one with injuries. He sprang to his feet, and the adrenaline in his veins was  _ almost  _ enough to keep him from wobbling as blood trickled into his left eye. 

_ Fuck, where did it go? _ He heard a sound on his left and turned not quite fast enough, this time the tree he slammed into had broken branches and he groaned as he felt himself impaled on one. It snapped off in between his ribs as he fell the 4 feet or so to the forest floor, striking his right knee painfully. 

He grimaced as he spit out dried pine needles,somehow managing to get his sword up just before getting pounced on, slashing the creature across its side. It landed awkwardly and slid a few feet. Geralt rolled and slashed the tendons on its back leg as he found his footing. Finally he could be done here. He screamed with pain and fury, a wild sound, when he finally took its head.

Head spinning, blood running from his forehead and back, the witcher was finally able to get to his potions and drink one down. He was oblivious of the blue-eyed deer that watched him contort his arms and scream as he pulled a 6 inch chunk of wood from the hole in his rib cage before passing out.


	3. Jaskier: Let the Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again beta read by ryannthegirl. Thank you, ryann.

Jaskier's power was greatest in the forests, and especially in  _ his _ forest. He really couldn't risk going into town, he was too consumed by his emotions to keep up human appearances for long. He could, of course, take the form of various creatures to run or hide in meadows. But what else was he going to do there, switch the witcher with long grasses? He wasn't going to do anything to cause problems for Roach, the mare hadn't done anything to him. But he would watch closely whenever Geralt was in the woods. That was a place he could act.

Several months after he flew from the mountain, the white-haired witcher entered his woods again. Jaskier took bird form to find him, returning to his natural shape as he landed lightly in the middle branches of a tree, wrapping himself around the trunk. He waved a hand and another tree branch swung forward of its own accord, hitting Geralt in the face as Roach trotted along the narrow trail into the forest. Geralt sputtered and grumbled; and for a few mere moments, the ache in Jaskier's chest was replaced by the temporary joy of spite. This was going to be fun. 

The first time the witcher had entered his woods, he had been on a hunt, and Jaskier made sure he couldn't sleep the night before. He was a little surprised at how much it had affected Geralt's abilities during the fight the next day, and realized he'd have to be careful if he wanted to torment this man, and not just watch him die. Who knew that lack of sleep would affect a human (even a mutated one) this way? 

But he hadn't survived this long without being cunning. He would find ways to prolong the man's torment.  _ You should be careful whom you annoy, you know not what creatures greater than man walk amongst us. Was that a well-known saying? It should be. _ But he was getting distracted again.

Jaskier stalked the silver-haired man in the guise of various forest creatures, showering him with pine needles, dropping a pine cone onto his head, but mostly keeping track of him. The witcher rode with purpose, which meant he must have a contract. He rode all day, far into the forest; to the edge of the swamp where he stopped Roach before baring his silver sword and wading into the muck. It didn't take long for a kikimore to surface, and Jaskier watched the battle with interest until ...

_ Why were there two of them here? _

Geralt was doing pretty well with one, but when the second kikimore rose from the murky water, Jaskier felt the winds of change. Before he could do much else, the White Wolf was spun from his feet and skewered through the chest. Angry cries tore from Jaskier's throat as he flung himself into the fray, his true form fully upon him. 

He shoved a fist through the damaged creature's eye and clean through it's head, goo flying well past its body with the force of the blow. Barely pausing to clear his hand from the skull, he sunk his fingers into each side of the second creature's neck, until he felt his fingers meet through the flesh. He wrenched the head clear of the body, flinging it into the mud as he landed beside the twitching ball that could only be Geralt.

He dragged the injured man from the muck, and cleaned the reddened slime from his chest to assess the damage, though he was not hopeful. He had seen that claw had come out through the witcher's back.

"No." His voice was rusty, gravelly from lack of use. 

"No, you don't get to die yet, Witcher. I'm not done with you." Jaskier stuck his fingers in the wound to stop the worst of the bleeding, and even mostly unconscious, Geralt groaned in pain. Long fingers dug in the witcher's bag, pulling out a potion. He sniffed it to make sure it was the right one, popped the cork and poured some over the wound as he removed his hand. Inside the wound, the potion fizzed and bubbled as it worked to heal the damage there. 

The broad man jerked upright with a cry, the pain must have been intense; his golden eyes were open wide, and he gripped the shoulder of the man kneeling above him. For a second or two his gaze focused, staring straight into two sky-blue eyes. 

"Jaskier?" The witcher's eyes unfocused as quickly as they had cleared. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Geralt collapsed again, feverishly muttering apologies. Jaskier was frozen, had the witcher really recognized him? Looking like  _ this _ ? The revelation continued to burn in his mind even as he regained enough of his senses to slowly pour the rest of the potion into and on the wound, watching it close.

"I love you, Jaskier." The big man was definitely delusional. Jaskier rolled him over to see how the wound was on his back. He used a couple more potions, pouring one down the witcher's throat, and using another on the wound. Once satisfied that Geralt was not going to die from being impaled by the creature, he relaxed and sat to contemplate the fevered musings of the Witcher.

He watched until he was certain Geralt would live, then scurried up a tree trunk in squirrel form to watch for his leaving. It took hours for the witcher to recover enough to move, let alone function, and Jaskier got almost as much delight from the White Wolf's confusion over his mostly healed injury as from he did from tormenting the big lug. Jaskier enjoyed the chaos from his perch in the tree, until finally Geralt had two kikimore heads slung over Roach's saddle and was headed back toward town.


	4. Geralt: Delusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: thoughts of self-harm.
> 
> Once again beta-read by ryannthegirl, who helps me remember to not be stingy with my paragraphs.

It was just a kikimore, it would be fine. 

It was not the first time he's taken one out. And it  _ was _ fine, except the damned thing caught him off guard before he could get to his potions. Still, he already had his sword out and managed to cleave one leg from the beast before it hit him, landing him arse first in the marsh. It tried to pin him underwater, but he managed to roll out of the way and regain his footing. He blocked another leg with his sword, the blow staggering him but not knocking him down this time. Dammit, he needed to get a potion, this was not going well.

The fight quickly went from bad to worse as a second kikimore raised its head from the stagnant pool.  _ Two? Was it mating season or something? _ The thought was literally knocked from his mind as he was spun about, heels sliding in the muck. The second creature had reared up and was already coming down on him.

This day just kept getting worse. He cried out as he felt the talon slam into his chest, and pop out the back between his ribs. Skewered by a kikimore, eh? Well, he always knew it would be one monster or another to take him out. He kept swinging, though, that's what he was trained to do. He was lifted into the air by the second creature, he couldn't quite reach it, but the first was closer and he slammed his sword down into the already injured beast. But the weight of his lagging body was dragging him from the impaling claw, and he couldn't breathe properly. 

He swung until he couldn't make his limbs move any more, curled in the muck of the swamp.  _ Let the darkness come, then. _ He had fought to the end, and had few actual regrets. Only one really, and it definitely had a name. 

The pain in his chest flared. _Is this what dying feels like?_ If only he had been allowed to make his apologies to ... White heat seared through his chest, and he bolted upright, eyes wide only to look into the summer sky, those beautiful blue eyes he never thought to see again. His best friend, his greatest regret; one and the same person.

"Jaskier?" 

_ Now I know I'm dying, because he's here.  _

Then the world fogged, his consciousness slipped away again as all he could think was how badly he wanted to apologize to his bard. 

_ I'm sorry _ . Sorry wasn't enough. There weren't enough apologies to take care of the things he had said. 

_ I love you, Jaskier. _ Why had he been so cruel? 

_ Sorry, so so sorry, my love. _ How could he hurt Jaskier that way? He'd never get to say it now, because he was dying.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Geralt slowly became aware that everything hurt. Well, that meant he wasn't dead. Since he was still alive, he took the usual precautions: lay still, listening, smelling, trying to determine any nearby threats. He heard forest sounds, a gentle breeze causing tree branches to sway, small ripples in the water. He smelled pine, earth, and some sort of wildflowers. The still-fading scent of something he couldn't quite place, like a warm spice perhaps. No sounds of the monsters he'd been fighting, only the smell of their rotting flesh. 

Satisfied, he opened his eyes and with some struggling, sat up. Pain from the freshly closed wound lanced through his body, the shocking memory of being skewered caused him to gasp quietly. There was a hole in his shirt, and a very angry looking wound, but no actual hole in his chest. It would scar, there was no doubt about that, but was largely healed. He took stock of his potions, three bottles were empty. He was certain this healing wasn't his own doing, though there was no one else around.

When he saw the damage to the kikimores he had been fighting, it was painfully obvious he had not done this alone. Most of the back of the skull was missing from one, that could have been him but he didn't think so, and he wasn't sure exactly  _ how _ the second one's head had been removed. It wasn't cleanly chopped off, but looked like it had been  _ ripped off _ . Anything powerful enough to do that made him very nervous, indeed.

He gathered up everything he needed, including both heads. It probably wouldn't fetch him any extra coin, but he could try. If nothing else, it would prove that he didn't do the job halfway.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Do the job, get paid, move on.

His body kept moving on, but his mind remained mired in the images from the swamp. 

He took another contract, but he kept seeing Jaskier's eyes above him as he lay dying.  _ It had to be just a fever-dream, right? _

He collected his bounty, and remembered begging the not-really-there bard to forgive him.

He moved to the next town, but kept seeing sky-blue eyes in a non-face. 

There were too many questions about what happened in that swamp, and Geralt  _ hated _ not having the answers.

He talked to Roach a lot these days; no one else would listen, no one cared. He traveled as he used to before the bard came into his life, just him and Roach. Chatting to the horse as he made potions, cooked his meals, or spread his bedroll. It wasn't  _ quite _ the same as before, though. He was acutely aware of something missing. 

He told himself it was for the best. Surely Jaskier was just hiding himself away somewhere, and it was better that he wasn't in the constant danger a witcher's life brought. But he couldn't stop seeing the heartbreak in the bard's eyes from that moment on the mountain. 

No one could love him, that was part of a witcher's life too. But those imagined eyes had looked so angry. Why would he see such angry eyes if he imagined Jaskier had been the one to save him in the swamp? No, the bard was probably dead, and that blood was on his hands too. Like Renfri. Like how many others?

This is why they say witcher's don't have emotions. To protect the humans, to keep them from the heartbreak. If you become attached to the fire, you'll get burned. Make them stay away, and keep your blood off their hands. Don't let them become attached, and it won’t hurt them if you die in their service. Or you, if they die by your hand.

Geralt had been working too hard, not allowing time to heal from his injuries. Being impaled was less painful than the thoughts and  _ emotions _ plaguing him now. He didn't know what beast he was fighting this time, didn't care; they all seemed to have sky-blue eyes. He killed Jaskier every time he battled, and he was tired.

He lay his bedroll on the ground and stretched out, staring at the sky, thinking about how he'd let the next creature take him, the same thoughts he had been having for the last few hunts. A single tear escaped one eye, but he lay still, feeling it roll down the side of his face. He just wasn't sure what kept him going now. 

_ Let the monsters take me, for that is what I am. A monster. _


	5. Endgame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final planned chapter of this story. They meet at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by ryannthegirl. Thank you, Ryann.

Jaskier watched as Geralt stopped Roach and assessed his surroundings. The horse pawed the ground once and shook her head, nickering softly.

"Yeah, I don't think we'll ever see him again, either," the witcher said as he dismounted, unable to get the images from the fever dream out of his mind. "But we can make camp here." 

She snorted and bumped her head into his leather armor. 

"I miss him too," he said as he stroked her nose fondly, "more than anyone knows."

"Him?” thought Jaskier. "Him who?" 

Geralt set up camp, and started blending herbs for potions, continuing to talk to Roach, who stood nearby having a snack on the fresh green grass.

"The days are too quiet without his constant chattering, and I miss hearing him make up new songs." 

Roach stared at him for several seconds while chewing. 

"Don't ever tell him I said that!" The horse snorted again. 

"He's probably dead anyway, no one has seen him since ... then. I should really just get over it, eh?" 

Silence extended for a moment before he whispered, nearly inaudible "But I can't."

_ Chattering? Writing songs?  _ Geralt had to be talking about him. The fevered apology and confession from a few months ago; and this was not the first time he'd heard similar conversations between the witcher and his horse. 

The thoughts tumbled around Jaskier's brain, eating at him as much as the pain from the moments on the mountain did. He could tell the White Wolf was pushing himself too hard, as though he no longer cared if he lived or died. A memory came unbidden to his mind:

_ "Do witchers ever retire?" _

_ "Yeah, when they slow, and get killed." _

The willowy deity had been watching Geralt drive himself to the point of exhaustion, and Jaskier suspected that was the intent. He watched the big man lie down, reeking of despair, and stare at the stars.

As angry as he was, he didn't want Geralt to die. In fact, he refused to watch him do that. But what was he going to do, pin the witcher down and demand that he use his words?  _ Actually, yes, why not do just that? _

He reached out with his power, into the earth and the plants preparing the nearby roots and vines to do his bidding. He waited until he was certain Geralt was asleep before commanding them.

Plants crept around the witcher, roots slid cautiously from the soil. Jaskier knew he'd have to orchestrate this carefully, or Geralt would wake and defend himself. Gently guided into place, the greenery and shoots waited for their command. Then swiftly vines bound large hands, roots pinned feet, torso, legs, and arms were held immobile, as the big man struggled to free himself. Ineffectually, of course.

Pleased with his work, Jaskier watched for just a moment before launching himself from the tree to land astride his victim, teeth bared, squatting to gain eye contact.

Geralt froze when the strange lithe creature landed above him, prepared to somehow fight, even though he couldn't move. But he was Geralt, and he'd try to talk first. The being looked rather like a goat from the hips down, human-shaped above, but taller than a man, with fine lines in the tan flesh. The Witcher continued to raise his eyes, a near-human face. He was quite sure he'd never seen such a creature. But then his gaze was captured by a pair of sky-blue eyes.

"Jaskier?"

"Oh, you recognize me?"

"It really is you, then?" Geralt's body twitched as he tried to move. "You have the same eyes. But why do you look ... like this?"

"This is how I'm  _ supposed _ to look, Geralt." His voice dripped with scorn, but softened as he continued his thoughts. "I learned to pass for human some time ago. They're so complex, so fragile and lovable; it took centuries to get it right."

"But why ..." He knew the words, but this strange, frighteningly gorgeous version of his bard squatting just above his own hips made it very hard to concentrate.

"Why didn't your precious medallion warn you about my magic?" The witcher gave a curt nod and a grunt. 

"Do you think that trees growing is magic? Baby bunnies being conceived? Spring grasses coming to life under the snow? They are. They are the most basic and most essential magic, inherent to nature. Your amulet does not register these innate things; only the chaos, magic used unnaturally, forced out of context. It is natural for me to shift forms, or to coax things to grow. " 

Jaskier shifted his weight a bit, and the vines and roots binding the witcher moved gently, slowly urging his arms further from his body to demonstrate.

"But I certainly can push the boundaries, and you'll feel this," a sly grin bared his sharp teeth, "in your amulet." 

Jaskier moved his hand and the living bindings pulled quickly at Geralt's legs, spreading his thighs wide despite the big man's attempts to fight the sudden movement; stopping just before the stretch became painful. 

_ No, he does not look sexy pinned down and squirming like that, stop it, Jaskier. _

The movement of Geralt’s arms had been gentle, calm, and his amulet did not react, nor did he feel anything strange, except the actual movements not caused by himself. But when Jaskier dropped that toothsome grin, it wasn’t just the amulet vibrating against his chest, he realized other telltales of magic; the taste in the air, that indefinible thing that pricked him to be alert, causing him to tense, as his legs were pulled apart.

His head swam with questions. 

"Ah, but I didn't show up to answer your queries, Witcher. You owe me." 

The shape atop the witcher began to change, shrinking, hair growing shorter, fur disappearing; until he was the familiar human bard again, wearing the same red outfit he had worn on that mountain, looking down at the white haired brute. Geralt’s amulet did not stir.

"Look me in the eyes, and tell me why.  _ Be honest _ , Geralt, why would you intentionally cause such pain to someone who only ever loved you?" Those big, blue eyes were too moist, tears waiting to spill.

"I'm sorry." Geralt swallowed hard, contemplating how to say what was in his mind.

The human-sized bard slammed a human-sized fist into the broad chest below him with human strength. His voice though, was somehow larger than human as he screamed:

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Geralt! It's not enough! You  _ know _ it's not enough!"

In the ensuing silence, not even the forest could be heard, all the creatures had fled. Geralt smelled bitter salt, the tears of heartbreak, just before the wetness hit his chest and slowly soaked into his shirt.

"You have every right to be angry and hurt," said Geralt, quietly. "And I expected that of you. I was angry. Everything I thought I knew was slipping from my grasp, but you've been there since ..." He faltered.

"You've been a rock since I met you, Jaskier. Strong where I couldn't be. I didn't really want you to leave. I didn't know how to say it then, but I wanted you to comfort me." The witcher hadn't actually expected those words to come out, but as he said them, he knew it was true. "Instead I drove you away."

Geralt felt the pressure behind his eyes again, more tears building. But he had no way to hide them, and the naked truth he found himself laying out to the bard cut deeper than any wound, deep enough to make even a witcher create tears.

"I deserve whatever torment you choose to mete out to me. I cannot undo what was done." The tear slid from his right eye, and for the second time in less than a day, he felt hot salt trickle down his face.

Jaskier witnessed the impossible, a tear streaking the face of a witcher. Despite the claims of emotionlessness, he knew better. He had seen the raw emotion trying to claw its way through Geralt. Had watched the struggles as his friend suppressed them when they became so overwhelming. 

_ You smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak. _

But he hadn't known it would be the witcher's heartbreak he'd be seeing. And it broke his own heart in a different fashion. These thoughts shot through his mind with uncanny speed, and Geralt's last words weighed in his consciousness, as the last couple of months brought the realization home. He slammed his human fist into the witcher's chest again.

"Is that why you're trying to die, fool? Do you think that's what I want, or are you wallowing in self-pity, oh, unfeeling witcher?" The big man did not open his eyes, but he swallowed hard. 

"You smell of shame and heartache, Geralt." Jaskier's voice was quieter now. "Despair and cowardice. You smell human, at last. Emotion wasn't stripped from you; you were merely taught to bury it within."

A warm hand gently touched Geralt's face, turning his head so his closed eyes faced upward. Calloused fingertips brushed the trail of the single tear from his face.

"Look at me." The voice was gentle, a request. Geralt looked up into that familiar face, avoiding locking eyes with Jaskier for several seconds. 

Jaskier had missed those sunshine eyes, and when they met his own, he smiled. Though they were still full of pain, those were the eyes he wanted to remember until time ended.

"I love you, Geralt of Rivia."

"Hmmm, but what if that's not really my name?" A wry smile flirted with the corners of Geralt's mouth.The bard laughed, a clear, resonant sound that echoed gently from the trees. 

"Well mine's not really Jaskier. But I still love you." The mood had suddenly become playful, and Geralt smelled like musk and leather and flowing sap. Jaskier knew that sap scent, the witcher was aroused. He knew Geralt could smell his own lust, and he felt a telltale twitch under his bum.

"I love you too, Jaskier.” It was obvious he meant it. Geralt tried to kiss the bard, but he couldn’t reach. “Can I get up yet?"

"No." 

Another twitch. The bard's face was painted with an impish grin, and he leaned down, mouth just far enough away from the witcher's to be a temptation, and Geralt tried to connect the kiss. There wasn't quite enough give to the bindings for him to get there.

"Do you want me, Witcher?"

"Yes." Jaskier leaned down and their lips brushed, a flirting kiss, just a tease.

"Yes, what?" The bard wiggled his hips, rubbing against Geralt's stiff rod.

"Yes, I want you, Jaskier." A nearly pained moan escaped Geralt's lips as he tried but failed to reach for the bard. The brunette smiled and let his hands play over his captive's body.

"What,  _ exactly _ , do you want from me?" he asked, teasing the witcher's ear with his lips. The big man shivered, a whine escaping his throat.

"Use your words, wolf-pup."

"I want ..."

Geralt understood why this gorgeous creature sitting on him stirred his cock. The warm spice smell of him was amazing, nearly overwhelming, tempered by the rich soil and pine that the bard always smelled like. 

What he didn't understand was why the words affected him this way. Why being held powerless and being made to state his cravings aloud made his desire spike in a way he was unfamiliar with. He had always done everything in his power to remain in control. Why was it so frightening, yet so tantalizing to give that up? 

He knew what he wanted, but the idea of saying it aloud, well, he'd blush if it were possible.

"I want you," the Witcher panted, then gasped in surprise as a hot mouth claimed his nipple. He wasn't even aware of his shirt having been removed, but that wonderment was driven from his mind as the mouth with it's talented tongue and teeth was replaced with pinching fingers so it could claim his other nipple.

Jaskier knew he was driving the white-haired man insane with lust, and he reveled in it.

"Ask nicely for what you want, pup," he whispered as he moved his mouth from one nipple to the other, knowing full well Geralt could hear him clearly, "And maybe I'll grant your wish." 

He had already undone the witcher's pants, and like he had with the shirt, utilized the roots to slide them off. His own clothes had already disappeared in much the same way they had appeared when he took his human form.

"Please," Geralt begged, his thoughts tumbling out of his head in a rush. "Please, fuck me. I can't stand it."

His voice broke. "I need release. I need forgiveness.  _ I need you _ ."

The old spirit of the wood felt his heart break, swell, and fill. It had been long since he heard such a prayer. And he was in every mood to give this gorgeous creature what he wanted.

He took hold of that thick beautiful cock, and gave a few strokes, knowing full well how close his witcher was to release.

"You're forgiven, love," he whispered into Geralt's ear as the witcher cried out and spilled his seed. He waited a small eternity until those sunshine eyes opened and found his. As Geralt's cock rapidly regained its turgidity under his hand, he realized the man really did have deadly stamina. One day he might have to put that to the test.

"And with that weight off your mind, you can truly enjoy  _ us _ ." Jaskier's fingers, somehow slick with oil, trailed down the witcher's cock, cupping his balls for a moment, before sliding lower. Those yellow eyes closed again, a gasp hitching from the white-haired chest. A single finger teased his pucker.

"Is this what you want, Geralt?" Jaskier asked gently.

"Yes," the witcher moaned as the nimble finger penetrated him, slowly working the oil inside, making him slick. Too slowly, in fact, it was frustrating and amazing all at the same time, and he needed more.

"I won't break Jaskier, please," he moaned as another finger joined its mate, feeling the slight stretch, and when those fingers found his sensitive spot he gasped and tried to push back, but he was bound too tightly to do more than just squirm.

"Oh, you like that, don't you, pup?" Jaskier stroked Geralt’s cock slowly with his other hand, working a third finger into that tight hole. The stretch was amazing, he couldn't move, all he could do was lay there and experience the sensations. He felt powerless, and he loved it, needed it, he wanted the beautiful man to claim him. He was completely oblivious of the wimpers he was making.

"I need to make sure you're loose enough for me, lover. I want your body to suck me in. I want to hear how much you enjoy it," he moaned quietly and Jaskier whispered "Yes, love, make those exquisite sounds for me." Geralt moaned again, louder as Jaskier hit that sweet spot anew.

"Please, I need you to claim me! Please!" The desperation seeped into Geralt's voice as he begged to be fucked urged the bard on. He made his way into position, the vines and roots moving to let him have Geralt's leg. He held that leg over his shoulder as he teased the sweet pucker with the head of his cock. Geralt grunted and tried to impale himself on it, the bindings preventing him again.

"Oh, no, Witcher, you wanted me to claim you, and I shall. The when is my decision, not yours." Geralt grunted with frustration, even as his cock jumped.

"Not grunts, dear heart, words."

Geralt growled, helpless and horny. Through clenched teeth he grated, "Please!"

The bard's cock popped through the ring, and as he had predicted, the witcher's body drew him in. Despite the three-finger preparation, Jaskier’s body filled him, stretching him. He growled again, until it turned into a whine as the bard hit bottom. His arms strained against the vines; his leg, crooked over Jaskier's shoulder, tried to pull the bard in closer.

"Fuck me, Jaskier, please." The bard was already moving, slowly fucking his witcher, letting him get used to it before ...

"Please, fuck me hard, claim me! I ..." Geralt's pleading turned into keening as Jaskier suddenly started pounding hard, claiming the indelicate man in the most primal way. 

They were both building fast, hurtling headlong into pleasure. As Jaskier felt the climax approaching, he turned his head and sunk his teeth into that glorious thigh. Geralt cried out, pumping white strands onto his belly, Jaskier groaned around his mouthful of flesh as he filled his lover with his own spill.

The vines and roots untangled and crept away as Jaskier collapsed next to Geralt. They cuddled together for a long time afterward. Finally Geralt asked in a sleepy voice

"Will we do this again?"

"Of course, love. But not tonight. And we have much to discuss tomorrow." He felt Geralt smile against his chest, stroking the long white strands as they fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me forever and a fair bit of help to figure out how to get this up, my apologies.
> 
> Much thanks to queen-squish!

Moodboard for Forest Lord Jaskier created by the fabulous queen-squish.

  



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